For all of my substance abuse, late-night existential crises, gratuitous illnesses, and other ridiculousness, let it be known that when it comes to my education, I get my shit together.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
And They Said..
For all of my substance abuse, late-night existential crises, gratuitous illnesses, and other ridiculousness, let it be known that when it comes to my education, I get my shit together.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Which List?
Announcement: I just raved for two nights in a row because I am a motherfucking raver child and I wanted to kick off my summer right, God damn it!
I am currently exhausted. I haven't washed my hair in five days, I haven't eaten in 18 hours, I have massive dark circles under my eyes, and I smell like weed and rave.
Allow me to elaborate:
So, Friday night, I heard about a show going down in Denver, so my buddy and I went down on a whim and ended up having a solid time. The venue was cool and there were four stages and there was a moderate amount of people there.
We were both also slutted-out in extremely revealing rave attire (picture to come, of course!) and of course we were decked the fuck out in massive amounts of kandi. We raved sober because our hook for molly fell through, but it was still a grand old time. [Side note: to those who are new to my blog and have not seen my rave vocabulary video, kandi are beaded bracelets and necklaces that ravers make and trade, and molly is MDMA, which is the purest form of ecstasy that one can buy on the street. Yes, drugs.]
The only real bummer of the night was that Technicolor Boy was texting me during the show and we sort of ended up having a fight. Can't really go into detail on that one; some things should be kept even from the blogosphere. What you need to know is that we ended the night in a sort of half-apologetic stalemate.
On the bright side, my anger at the texting situation was well-channeled into my dancing. I had a lot of photographers taking pictures of my buddy and I. Sometimes, being a rave slut is so fun!
Although, there was this 27 year-old who kept hitting on me all night, even after I told him that I'm seventeen. Awks!
Moving right along to last night (Saturday), I went to another rave with Lionboy. The rave was billed as a massive with three stages and gogos from a big dance team. Now, I have been to several massives, and this show was not one of them. It was the opposite of a massive. [Side note again: raves come in three sizes; small, mid-sized, and massive. Small raves are around 50-200 people with maybe one or two stages, mid-sized is anywhere from 200-1000 with two to five stages, and massive is like Global, EDC or Ultra, with multiple thousands of people and either one huge main stage, or up to ten varied stages. All legitimate raves have gogo dancers. The show that I went to on Saturday night had about 40 people there, including security and DJs, and there were no gogos on the premises except for the girlfriend of one of the DJs] Unfortunately, we had bought our tickets ahead of time, so we said a collective "fuck it" and went in anyway.
The 'rave' was at a Mexican bar behind a McDonald's in the shitty, super sketchy part of Denver near the Colosseum and National Western Complex, which are the venues where real massives are held. The show was was tiny, no one was really dancing, and it was filled to the brim with posers.
There were about eight real ravers there, Lionboy and myself included. I say real ravers because I am talking about the kandi kids and sugar scene ragers who know how to hardstep and techtonic AND shuffle. And we all shuffle correctly, to hardstyle, fidget, and dubstep, none of this LMFAO Party Rock Anthem shit. [Side note #3: LMFAO is not EDM. LMFAO is pop music that has stolen elements of EDM, mashed them all together underneath simple, raunchy rap lyrics, and then over hyped themselves by wearing leopard print pants and hipster sunglasses]
Anyway, there was one DJ (A good buddy of mine, actually) who played a good set, so the eight of us ravers started a shuffle circle, (and, yes, yo' girl can shuffle in gogo boots. I am a BAMF) but that was probably the most exciting half hour of the entire night. We didn't even buy drugs in an attempt to salvage our moods. It was definitely a waste of money; very disappointing.
Lionboy and I basically called it a night at midnight, which is saying something, because raves generally go until two or four in the morning, and I like to stay till the end. But the show was a bust, so Lionboy went home and I went to go hang out with Technicolor Boy.
I showed up at his house still in my super sluttastic rave get-up because I had driven straight there, gogo boots and all. His roommates all did this collective eyebrow raise when I walked through the door. They're all mature ravers who have been in the scene for a while, and they all also happened to be tripping on acid, but they were still men, and men cannot help but check out any girl in lingeree, fishnets, and gogo boots. I looked pitifully at Technicolor Boy until he let me borrow some clothes for the night. The t-shirt he lent me smells like him. Yum.
It was nice to be able to see Technicolor Boy and to actually talk to him in person about the textual mess from the previous night. We ended up watching this weird Korean/Japanese anime series about the diplomatic history of World War II called Hetalia Axis Powers. It was seriously one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my life.Very NPC, but hilarious!
Anyway, props to him for wanting to hang out with me despite my looking and smelling like a prostitute when I arrived. Raves are not exactly the cleanest, most fresh places. Especially the one from that night-- it was very grimy and sweaty.
He and I talked about our lives.
We got to talking about each others' past relationships and such. We landed upon the inevitable "how many sexual partners have you had in the past" bit, and that was when things got interesting. Now, I am going to be completely honest here: in my life, I have had sex with a total of nine people. I may have a lot of sex, but it tends to be with one partner multiple times, as opposed to vice versa.
But apparently Technicolor Boy has, in fact, done the vice versa. This got us both talking about the wonderousness of having a fuck-buddy, and then he mentioned that when it came to girls, he separates the girls he's around into two lists: The Potential/Relationship List, and the Hook Up Until Bored List.
After he mentioned these, I wanted to ask him which list I was on. I have no idea where I stand with him. If I knew, that would make shit a lot easier for me. I don't want to allow myself to get emotionally invested in someone who won't feel the same, but at the same time, I don't want to go fuck someone else and ruin any romantic potential that lies between Technicolor Boy and I.
I didn't ask him about which list I was on because I still feel like it's a little early on to ask him to define our weird, albeit cute, relationship, but it's killing me! Which list bares my name?
The answer to this question holds the key to my immediate romantic endeavors. I'd honestly be fine with either answer, as well. I'd understand and happily go along with just wanting to hook up, but I'd do the same for if he thought I had potential. The answer lies only with him. I won't know what to do until I know what his feelings are, but I don't want to fuck-up things, which seem to be going well, simply because my curiosity about his feelings is so rampant.
But I have to know. The list that my name is on will determine the future for my heart, and that is a future that I value very much!
Oh Lord.
Julia
I am currently exhausted. I haven't washed my hair in five days, I haven't eaten in 18 hours, I have massive dark circles under my eyes, and I smell like weed and rave.
Allow me to elaborate:
So, Friday night, I heard about a show going down in Denver, so my buddy and I went down on a whim and ended up having a solid time. The venue was cool and there were four stages and there was a moderate amount of people there.
We were both also slutted-out in extremely revealing rave attire (picture to come, of course!) and of course we were decked the fuck out in massive amounts of kandi. We raved sober because our hook for molly fell through, but it was still a grand old time. [Side note: to those who are new to my blog and have not seen my rave vocabulary video, kandi are beaded bracelets and necklaces that ravers make and trade, and molly is MDMA, which is the purest form of ecstasy that one can buy on the street. Yes, drugs.]
The only real bummer of the night was that Technicolor Boy was texting me during the show and we sort of ended up having a fight. Can't really go into detail on that one; some things should be kept even from the blogosphere. What you need to know is that we ended the night in a sort of half-apologetic stalemate.
On the bright side, my anger at the texting situation was well-channeled into my dancing. I had a lot of photographers taking pictures of my buddy and I. Sometimes, being a rave slut is so fun!
Although, there was this 27 year-old who kept hitting on me all night, even after I told him that I'm seventeen. Awks!
Moving right along to last night (Saturday), I went to another rave with Lionboy. The rave was billed as a massive with three stages and gogos from a big dance team. Now, I have been to several massives, and this show was not one of them. It was the opposite of a massive. [Side note again: raves come in three sizes; small, mid-sized, and massive. Small raves are around 50-200 people with maybe one or two stages, mid-sized is anywhere from 200-1000 with two to five stages, and massive is like Global, EDC or Ultra, with multiple thousands of people and either one huge main stage, or up to ten varied stages. All legitimate raves have gogo dancers. The show that I went to on Saturday night had about 40 people there, including security and DJs, and there were no gogos on the premises except for the girlfriend of one of the DJs] Unfortunately, we had bought our tickets ahead of time, so we said a collective "fuck it" and went in anyway.
The 'rave' was at a Mexican bar behind a McDonald's in the shitty, super sketchy part of Denver near the Colosseum and National Western Complex, which are the venues where real massives are held. The show was was tiny, no one was really dancing, and it was filled to the brim with posers.
There were about eight real ravers there, Lionboy and myself included. I say real ravers because I am talking about the kandi kids and sugar scene ragers who know how to hardstep and techtonic AND shuffle. And we all shuffle correctly, to hardstyle, fidget, and dubstep, none of this LMFAO Party Rock Anthem shit. [Side note #3: LMFAO is not EDM. LMFAO is pop music that has stolen elements of EDM, mashed them all together underneath simple, raunchy rap lyrics, and then over hyped themselves by wearing leopard print pants and hipster sunglasses]
Anyway, there was one DJ (A good buddy of mine, actually) who played a good set, so the eight of us ravers started a shuffle circle, (and, yes, yo' girl can shuffle in gogo boots. I am a BAMF) but that was probably the most exciting half hour of the entire night. We didn't even buy drugs in an attempt to salvage our moods. It was definitely a waste of money; very disappointing.
Lionboy and I basically called it a night at midnight, which is saying something, because raves generally go until two or four in the morning, and I like to stay till the end. But the show was a bust, so Lionboy went home and I went to go hang out with Technicolor Boy.
I showed up at his house still in my super sluttastic rave get-up because I had driven straight there, gogo boots and all. His roommates all did this collective eyebrow raise when I walked through the door. They're all mature ravers who have been in the scene for a while, and they all also happened to be tripping on acid, but they were still men, and men cannot help but check out any girl in lingeree, fishnets, and gogo boots. I looked pitifully at Technicolor Boy until he let me borrow some clothes for the night. The t-shirt he lent me smells like him. Yum.
It was nice to be able to see Technicolor Boy and to actually talk to him in person about the textual mess from the previous night. We ended up watching this weird Korean/Japanese anime series about the diplomatic history of World War II called Hetalia Axis Powers. It was seriously one of the funniest things I have ever seen in my life.Very NPC, but hilarious!
Anyway, props to him for wanting to hang out with me despite my looking and smelling like a prostitute when I arrived. Raves are not exactly the cleanest, most fresh places. Especially the one from that night-- it was very grimy and sweaty.
He and I talked about our lives.
We got to talking about each others' past relationships and such. We landed upon the inevitable "how many sexual partners have you had in the past" bit, and that was when things got interesting. Now, I am going to be completely honest here: in my life, I have had sex with a total of nine people. I may have a lot of sex, but it tends to be with one partner multiple times, as opposed to vice versa.
But apparently Technicolor Boy has, in fact, done the vice versa. This got us both talking about the wonderousness of having a fuck-buddy, and then he mentioned that when it came to girls, he separates the girls he's around into two lists: The Potential/Relationship List, and the Hook Up Until Bored List.
After he mentioned these, I wanted to ask him which list I was on. I have no idea where I stand with him. If I knew, that would make shit a lot easier for me. I don't want to allow myself to get emotionally invested in someone who won't feel the same, but at the same time, I don't want to go fuck someone else and ruin any romantic potential that lies between Technicolor Boy and I.
I didn't ask him about which list I was on because I still feel like it's a little early on to ask him to define our weird, albeit cute, relationship, but it's killing me! Which list bares my name?
The answer to this question holds the key to my immediate romantic endeavors. I'd honestly be fine with either answer, as well. I'd understand and happily go along with just wanting to hook up, but I'd do the same for if he thought I had potential. The answer lies only with him. I won't know what to do until I know what his feelings are, but I don't want to fuck-up things, which seem to be going well, simply because my curiosity about his feelings is so rampant.
But I have to know. The list that my name is on will determine the future for my heart, and that is a future that I value very much!
Oh Lord.
Julia
Friday, May 25, 2012
Drunk Blogging
Last night was the very first night of summer. It was my duty as an American teenager to get schwasted (because that's what the kids are calling it these days) so, naturally, I fulfilled my moral obligations. But that is only half of the story.
The other half is that upon returning home, my drinking buddy fell asleep immediately before we could continue the party, but I was not ready to stop drinking, so I didn't. Then, because I was bored and had no one to talk to because my friend was asleep, I dicked around on the interwebs for a while. That process included blogging, but luckily I was smart enough to simply save my drunken musings as drafts and not publish them.
However, I have read through what I wrote and deemed it safe for sharing. Lucky you!
Post attempt #1:
Oh lawd. Tonight has been a night of shenanigans.
It is the first night of summer, so nautrally, I had to party it the fuck up. I picked up Licia and we drove to Boulder. We walked around Pearl St (aka my summer home) and made friends with some weird hippies before talking to these two frat guys who were going to a party. We just kind of followed them to this apartment (sketchy bad decision ftw) where she proceeded o get very drunk while I drank a few beer a silently judged.
It was an ok party, I suppose. There were gratuitous keg-stands (oh, college people) and I was definitely sketched out the entire time about the cops being called because I'm just paranoid like that. Oh well. It was fun. I made friends with a hot chick named Darby and a hotter chick named Charlotte, who left with a very drunk frat boy named Chad and probably ended up fucking him, which she will vastly regret tomorrow morning because he was not hot at all.
Anyway. It was a good time. Friends were made, beer was drunk, Lily got schwasted. I remained sober enough to drive, but upon returning home, after she passed out, I drank some vodka and cherry coke that had in a water bottle and have since become much more intoxicated.
I tried drunk Tumblring, which was a bad idea, because I randomly searched the "ex" tag and then read through about 50 people's life stories concering their exes. I'm so cool.
anyway.
I really shouldn't be blogging in this state, I can barely read the keyboard. ugh.
Actually, maybe I should. This could be a valuable exercise in stating the truth, because after all, a drunk mouth speaks a sober mind. Shit, I'm poetic. Jk, I totally stole that off of some gif on Tumblr. I have a problem lol. Anyway.
Derpatastic.
Yay vodka?
Yay vodka!
Julia
Ok, so that was marginally cogent despite a few spelling and grammar errors. I figured out that Tumblr is basically the best thing ever when you're drunk because it is endlessly entertaining.
About an hour after the first attempt, shortly before I passed out for the night, I wrote more.
Post attempt #2 (prepare yourself)
Drunker Post, Oh sweet Jesus.
Girl, I be fucked the fuck up.
Like, damn. Dayummm.
I;m definitely to the pint where words are hard and grammar is harder.
Ugh!
Vodka is the devil. I think.... Maybe it's some saint in disguise.
I've been thinking about Technicolor Boy (let's call him Tb, like the disease) and I thin this could be going somewhere solid. idk. It;s so weird.
Yikes!
Evidently, after drinking, I like to think that I am being profound, but I negate my own ethos due to sounding like a shitty text massage.
SPEAKING OF WHICH, last night, in my drunken stupor, due to my urge to talk to someone, I texted my favorite Manwhoreboy. The conversation didn't get very far before I fell asleep, but that didn't stop him. This is it, word for word:
Me - Hey!
Him - hiii
Me - You fucked up?
Him - noo. why?
Me - No reason lol ;)
(Yes, I used a fucking winky face. I thought it was sexy. Anyway, at this point, I fall asleep)
Him - am tired though haha was clubing tonight with my grad class
Him - haha are you darlin? careful you gave a bf;p
Him - unnnlleessss....your single?;)
Him - you there?;p loll
Him - haha dont forrget to use a rubber babe ;p
Him - noothinn beats four shots inn the morning;D
Him - letss hook up soon k?;)
Holy God, he out-drunked me.
Let's analyze, shall we? First, there are multiple spelling errors due to the inclusion of extra letters and exclusion of proper punctuation, not to mention he used the wrong form of "you're" which makes me feel like I'm dying inside. [Side note, I feel like all boys use the wrong form of "you're" when texting. What's up with that?] Second, emoticons. After every sentence. Now, I enjoy a smiley face every now and again, but what the fuck is that winky tongue face thing with the semicolon and lowercase p? Is that supposed to be cute? Finally, I think it's rather humorous that through these messages, I can see the progression of his mind going from wanting to talk to me to assuming that I am not replying because I am having sex with someone, him wanting to have sex with me, him being jealous of that fact that I am not replying because I am likely having sex with someone, and finally going back to just wanting to have sex with me.
Oh, boys.
So, basically, it's summer now and life is fabbity fab fab as Georgia Nicolson would say. (Yes, I make references to books I read in middle school while talking about delinquent activities because irony does not apply to me) I did the AP European History test, which I hopefully didn't completely blow, and handed in my trigonometry final.
MY LIFE IS SO UNSTRESSFUL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF.
Happy summer!
Julia
The other half is that upon returning home, my drinking buddy fell asleep immediately before we could continue the party, but I was not ready to stop drinking, so I didn't. Then, because I was bored and had no one to talk to because my friend was asleep, I dicked around on the interwebs for a while. That process included blogging, but luckily I was smart enough to simply save my drunken musings as drafts and not publish them.
However, I have read through what I wrote and deemed it safe for sharing. Lucky you!
Post attempt #1:
Oh lawd. Tonight has been a night of shenanigans.
It is the first night of summer, so nautrally, I had to party it the fuck up. I picked up Licia and we drove to Boulder. We walked around Pearl St (aka my summer home) and made friends with some weird hippies before talking to these two frat guys who were going to a party. We just kind of followed them to this apartment (sketchy bad decision ftw) where she proceeded o get very drunk while I drank a few beer a silently judged.
It was an ok party, I suppose. There were gratuitous keg-stands (oh, college people) and I was definitely sketched out the entire time about the cops being called because I'm just paranoid like that. Oh well. It was fun. I made friends with a hot chick named Darby and a hotter chick named Charlotte, who left with a very drunk frat boy named Chad and probably ended up fucking him, which she will vastly regret tomorrow morning because he was not hot at all.
Anyway. It was a good time. Friends were made, beer was drunk, Lily got schwasted. I remained sober enough to drive, but upon returning home, after she passed out, I drank some vodka and cherry coke that had in a water bottle and have since become much more intoxicated.
I tried drunk Tumblring, which was a bad idea, because I randomly searched the "ex" tag and then read through about 50 people's life stories concering their exes. I'm so cool.
anyway.
I really shouldn't be blogging in this state, I can barely read the keyboard. ugh.
Actually, maybe I should. This could be a valuable exercise in stating the truth, because after all, a drunk mouth speaks a sober mind. Shit, I'm poetic. Jk, I totally stole that off of some gif on Tumblr. I have a problem lol. Anyway.
Derpatastic.
Yay vodka?
Yay vodka!
Julia
Ok, so that was marginally cogent despite a few spelling and grammar errors. I figured out that Tumblr is basically the best thing ever when you're drunk because it is endlessly entertaining.
About an hour after the first attempt, shortly before I passed out for the night, I wrote more.
Post attempt #2 (prepare yourself)
Drunker Post, Oh sweet Jesus.
Girl, I be fucked the fuck up.
Like, damn. Dayummm.
I;m definitely to the pint where words are hard and grammar is harder.
Ugh!
Vodka is the devil. I think.... Maybe it's some saint in disguise.
I've been thinking about Technicolor Boy (let's call him Tb, like the disease) and I thin this could be going somewhere solid. idk. It;s so weird.
Yikes!
Evidently, after drinking, I like to think that I am being profound, but I negate my own ethos due to sounding like a shitty text massage.
SPEAKING OF WHICH, last night, in my drunken stupor, due to my urge to talk to someone, I texted my favorite Manwhoreboy. The conversation didn't get very far before I fell asleep, but that didn't stop him. This is it, word for word:
Me - Hey!
Him - hiii
Me - You fucked up?
Him - noo. why?
Me - No reason lol ;)
(Yes, I used a fucking winky face. I thought it was sexy. Anyway, at this point, I fall asleep)
Him - am tired though haha was clubing tonight with my grad class
Him - haha are you darlin? careful you gave a bf;p
Him - unnnlleessss....your single?;)
Him - you there?;p loll
Him - haha dont forrget to use a rubber babe ;p
Him - noothinn beats four shots inn the morning;D
Him - letss hook up soon k?;)
Holy God, he out-drunked me.
Let's analyze, shall we? First, there are multiple spelling errors due to the inclusion of extra letters and exclusion of proper punctuation, not to mention he used the wrong form of "you're" which makes me feel like I'm dying inside. [Side note, I feel like all boys use the wrong form of "you're" when texting. What's up with that?] Second, emoticons. After every sentence. Now, I enjoy a smiley face every now and again, but what the fuck is that winky tongue face thing with the semicolon and lowercase p? Is that supposed to be cute? Finally, I think it's rather humorous that through these messages, I can see the progression of his mind going from wanting to talk to me to assuming that I am not replying because I am having sex with someone, him wanting to have sex with me, him being jealous of that fact that I am not replying because I am likely having sex with someone, and finally going back to just wanting to have sex with me.
Oh, boys.
So, basically, it's summer now and life is fabbity fab fab as Georgia Nicolson would say. (Yes, I make references to books I read in middle school while talking about delinquent activities because irony does not apply to me) I did the AP European History test, which I hopefully didn't completely blow, and handed in my trigonometry final.
MY LIFE IS SO UNSTRESSFUL, I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MYSELF.
Happy summer!
Julia
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Checked Out
I have exactly on day of school left, one final AP test, and two projects due. I could not care less.
I just want my fucking summer. Now.
I just want my fucking summer. Now.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Rewind
I am procrastinating like it's my job. I am so incredibly frustrated and I wish that I could travel back in time so that I could have another night with Technicolor Boy, instead of only the company of my AP Euro project. UGH. But I've gotten ice cream and cigarettes, so I feel like I shouldn't be complaining.
This has been my weekend, but instead of the usual update post, I'm going to start with right now,then go in reverse, like a movie on rewind. Leggo!
-Angrily eat ice cream after returning from brief gasoline run. Get on interwebs to avoid further productivity.
-Become ridiculously frustrated with trig take-home test, leave Ukrainian household in order to maintain sanity.
-Continue to do trig with drunk Ukrainians.
-Sketchy escapade in search of cigarettes with Lionboy.
-Go to Philly's extremely Ukrainian household to do trigonometry test, seek help from her brother (who is drunk as shit and still better at math than the both of us) Get bored and call Lionboy.
-Paint nails lovely shade of lilac while watching Mob Wives. I adore fighting with Staten Island accents.
-Drive home while jamming to classic rock radio station. I love me some Rolling Stones and some Lynyrd Skynyrd; don't judge me.
-Leave Technicolor Boy's house after a day of watching Justice League spinoff cartoons and waffles.
-Wake up to yet another fucked-up nightmare. I don't know what the deal is with my brain lately. Get comforted by a very confused and sleepy Technicolor Boy, who, despite being annoyed at having been woken up early, still manages to provide me with an overt sense of security and warm-fuzzy-yum feelings. Proceed to fall asleep in his arms and then re-awaken at noon.
-Fall asleep to the heartbeat that has become one of my favorite sounds in the world (God, I'm so fucking sappy) after gratuitous sex. Glorious, glorious, gratuitous sex.
-Observe with hidden joy the look on Technicolor Boy's face at the sight of the new lingerée. Boom, roasted.
-Watch Game of Thrones episode despite not knowing what the Hell is going on. Seems like a show I might have to actually start watching. As the roommates gradually disperse to their respective bedrooms, grin slyly at Technicolor Boy.
-Arrive at the house after a lovely drive. Play Marvel Ultimate alliance with Technicolor Boy and his roommates. Wreck digital shit like pro.
-Change outfit and put on make up in the interest of not looking like a dead person. Embark on journey to the abode of Technicolor Boy.
-Return home. Commence the ceremonial untagging of all new belongings.
-Go shopping at the huge mall off of Highway 36. Use two gift cards. Purchase adorable tulip shorts, clubbing dress, and new lingerée for funsies.
-Meet up with fellow blonde friend, proceed to rock out to "Call Me Maybe" like absolute idiots while speeding down the highway. We are teenaged girls, after all.
-Wake up, shower, decide that today is a good day to get out of the house and go on an adventure instead of sitting around watching shitty foreign films, like I had previously planned to do.
So yeah, that was basically how everything went down. Now I have to finish this damn Euro project before I can sleep. Again I say, ugh. I am very ready for school to not be part of my life for a few months.
Julia
This has been my weekend, but instead of the usual update post, I'm going to start with right now,then go in reverse, like a movie on rewind. Leggo!
-Angrily eat ice cream after returning from brief gasoline run. Get on interwebs to avoid further productivity.
-Become ridiculously frustrated with trig take-home test, leave Ukrainian household in order to maintain sanity.
-Continue to do trig with drunk Ukrainians.
-Sketchy escapade in search of cigarettes with Lionboy.
-Go to Philly's extremely Ukrainian household to do trigonometry test, seek help from her brother (who is drunk as shit and still better at math than the both of us) Get bored and call Lionboy.
-Paint nails lovely shade of lilac while watching Mob Wives. I adore fighting with Staten Island accents.
-Drive home while jamming to classic rock radio station. I love me some Rolling Stones and some Lynyrd Skynyrd; don't judge me.
-Leave Technicolor Boy's house after a day of watching Justice League spinoff cartoons and waffles.
-Wake up to yet another fucked-up nightmare. I don't know what the deal is with my brain lately. Get comforted by a very confused and sleepy Technicolor Boy, who, despite being annoyed at having been woken up early, still manages to provide me with an overt sense of security and warm-fuzzy-yum feelings. Proceed to fall asleep in his arms and then re-awaken at noon.
-Fall asleep to the heartbeat that has become one of my favorite sounds in the world (God, I'm so fucking sappy) after gratuitous sex. Glorious, glorious, gratuitous sex.
-Observe with hidden joy the look on Technicolor Boy's face at the sight of the new lingerée. Boom, roasted.
-Watch Game of Thrones episode despite not knowing what the Hell is going on. Seems like a show I might have to actually start watching. As the roommates gradually disperse to their respective bedrooms, grin slyly at Technicolor Boy.
-Arrive at the house after a lovely drive. Play Marvel Ultimate alliance with Technicolor Boy and his roommates. Wreck digital shit like pro.
-Change outfit and put on make up in the interest of not looking like a dead person. Embark on journey to the abode of Technicolor Boy.
-Return home. Commence the ceremonial untagging of all new belongings.
-Go shopping at the huge mall off of Highway 36. Use two gift cards. Purchase adorable tulip shorts, clubbing dress, and new lingerée for funsies.
-Meet up with fellow blonde friend, proceed to rock out to "Call Me Maybe" like absolute idiots while speeding down the highway. We are teenaged girls, after all.
-Wake up, shower, decide that today is a good day to get out of the house and go on an adventure instead of sitting around watching shitty foreign films, like I had previously planned to do.
So yeah, that was basically how everything went down. Now I have to finish this damn Euro project before I can sleep. Again I say, ugh. I am very ready for school to not be part of my life for a few months.
Julia
Friday, May 18, 2012
#ISmellLikeFireAndGlory
Tonight, I went to a mini-bonfire on my buddy's farm. We all hung out with his cows (yes, this is what happens when you live in fuck-all nowhere, there are farms with livestock #hicktownlife) and talked and it was good fun.
I met a lot of new people, which is my favorite part of going to parties. There were a fair amount of cute guys around, and I got hit on quite a bit (par usual, I am quite the little sex kitten #lolsjkguys) but I spent the entire night texting Technicolor Boy. Despite being surrounded by cute, willing guys, I honestly had no desire to get into any shenanigans with any of them because all I can think about is seeing Technicolor Boy tomorrow night.
#mongamy?MONOGAMY?!?!WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!?!?!?!?!?!
Oh God. ALL the run away instincts.
The problem is that I know how I feel. It is pretty fucking clear #inconvenienttruth. However much it may make me uncomfortable, I know that it is what it is. What is now concerning me is that the feeling may not be mutual.
What is most concerning of all is that I could possibly care more than he does. #whatisthisshit
I really need to stop spewing my love life all over the internet. You guys are probably getting sick of my internal battles with this whole "love" concept. Sorry! I'll try to keep the sappiness to a minimum. #lies, all lies. You know I can't help but express my feelings on this blog.
But seriously, I will try to tone it down. Anyway.
I smell like a campfire.
Julia
I met a lot of new people, which is my favorite part of going to parties. There were a fair amount of cute guys around, and I got hit on quite a bit (par usual, I am quite the little sex kitten #lolsjkguys) but I spent the entire night texting Technicolor Boy. Despite being surrounded by cute, willing guys, I honestly had no desire to get into any shenanigans with any of them because all I can think about is seeing Technicolor Boy tomorrow night.
#mongamy?MONOGAMY?!?!WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?!?!?!?!?!?!
Oh God. ALL the run away instincts.
The problem is that I know how I feel. It is pretty fucking clear #inconvenienttruth. However much it may make me uncomfortable, I know that it is what it is. What is now concerning me is that the feeling may not be mutual.
What is most concerning of all is that I could possibly care more than he does. #whatisthisshit
I really need to stop spewing my love life all over the internet. You guys are probably getting sick of my internal battles with this whole "love" concept. Sorry! I'll try to keep the sappiness to a minimum. #lies, all lies. You know I can't help but express my feelings on this blog.
But seriously, I will try to tone it down. Anyway.
I smell like a campfire.
Julia
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Senior Thoughts
Two posts in one day? I shouldn't. I really shouldn't, but I'm going to anyway. Sorry y'all, I know it's obnoxious when I do this, but a lot's happened since this morning's AP triumph.
I just got home from the final choir concert of the year, which is always super intense. I was in three choral groups--a big combined choir, chamber choir, then a small selected women's ensemble--and my voice is shot, but it was worth it.
My favorite group to sing with was the women's ensemble. It was me and nine other girls who had been selected by the director to sing advanced music. Thing thing about high school choirs is that a lot of times, even in the best choirs, there are people that suck, and if they don't suck, then they lack the ability to sound fantastic. The benefit of our tiny group was that it was a cherry-picked group of actually talented, musically gifted females. It's nice to be above the crowd.
We sang a Gwyneth Walker piece, which, for those of you non-choir nerds, meant a weird bit of poetry set to a completely unhelpful and very complicated piano accompaniment and three- and four-part harmonies that were so dissonant that they almost sounded wrong. Good fun.
The other song we sang was this incredible and complex African piece by Stephen Hatfield. It was seriously the hardest piece of music I have ever learned in my life. The entire thing is multiple different melodies layered over each other in four-part harmony. Gnarly, but fulfilling to sing.
The final concert is always very senior-y, because it is the last thing that the seniors will ever do with their choirs. Underclassmen give the seniors roses and then the seniors sing a song by themselves.
Now, as I have stated time and again, I am not a crier. However, tonight, giving my best friends roses and then watching them sing their final song with them all together for the last time broke my soul. Girl, I was a hot ass mess; crying all over the place and fucking up my make up. Lionboy was sitting next to me during the senior song and he was seriously the only thing keeping me from running out of the auditorium sobbing. It was the first time he's ever seen me cry, I think it really shocked him to see me break down like that.
Next year, it's going to be me up on that stage, getting a rose, singing a cheesy farewell song, and probably bawling so hard that I'll have to stop singing. I wonder if, by that time, I'll be anyone's reason to cry. Will some underclassman hug me goodbye and think "Man, I'm really going to miss her", or will I be one of the people who will be easily forgotten? Have I impacted anyone but myself during my time in high school?
Next year, I'm going to be a senior. I'm going to be surrounded by people that I care nothing for and motivation is going to be even more challenging to maintain. I'm going to be doing a lot of lasts. I don't know how I feel about this.
Anyway.
After about four cigarettes on a long drive around some back roads and a good sob all on my lonesome, I came home to see the most recent post by Lizzi on her blog. She got into an awesome college and was totally stoked to go, but money got in the way. Now, she is rearranging her life in order to ensure that her future does not completely disintegrate. Honey, you are courageous. I mean, damn. It really got me thinking about the future and about what I would do if faced with the same situation.
If by some miracle I managed to get into Harvard, and then couldn't pay, what would I do? Could I let my dreams get deferred so quickly? I think if I had my dreams held within reach, then dashed before my eyes, I'd completely shut down. I don't think I'm as determined to get an education. I'd probably turn into one of those drifters and I'd develop a brief heroin addiction before going to start my life completely over in a foreign country or something. At 18. By myself. Because I know I wouldn't be able to face the feeling of failure that would come from sticking at home along with the feelings of frustration and sadness at having my opportunities taken away.
The mere thought of even not getting into Harvard freaks me out. I have a few backups in mind, but my heart would truly break if I had to go to college anywhere but Boston. Even more terrifying is the thought that soon, I'm going to be completely independent. I refuse to rely upon my absentee parents for money and I want the freedom, but I don't know if I can handle the responsibility.
Mistakes will be greater and harder to fix, money will be harder to come by, and my life is going to compeltely restructure itself whether I like it or not.
I'm thundering towards adulthood, and I don't know if I'm ready for it yet.
Julia
I just got home from the final choir concert of the year, which is always super intense. I was in three choral groups--a big combined choir, chamber choir, then a small selected women's ensemble--and my voice is shot, but it was worth it.
My favorite group to sing with was the women's ensemble. It was me and nine other girls who had been selected by the director to sing advanced music. Thing thing about high school choirs is that a lot of times, even in the best choirs, there are people that suck, and if they don't suck, then they lack the ability to sound fantastic. The benefit of our tiny group was that it was a cherry-picked group of actually talented, musically gifted females. It's nice to be above the crowd.
We sang a Gwyneth Walker piece, which, for those of you non-choir nerds, meant a weird bit of poetry set to a completely unhelpful and very complicated piano accompaniment and three- and four-part harmonies that were so dissonant that they almost sounded wrong. Good fun.
The other song we sang was this incredible and complex African piece by Stephen Hatfield. It was seriously the hardest piece of music I have ever learned in my life. The entire thing is multiple different melodies layered over each other in four-part harmony. Gnarly, but fulfilling to sing.
The final concert is always very senior-y, because it is the last thing that the seniors will ever do with their choirs. Underclassmen give the seniors roses and then the seniors sing a song by themselves.
Now, as I have stated time and again, I am not a crier. However, tonight, giving my best friends roses and then watching them sing their final song with them all together for the last time broke my soul. Girl, I was a hot ass mess; crying all over the place and fucking up my make up. Lionboy was sitting next to me during the senior song and he was seriously the only thing keeping me from running out of the auditorium sobbing. It was the first time he's ever seen me cry, I think it really shocked him to see me break down like that.
Next year, it's going to be me up on that stage, getting a rose, singing a cheesy farewell song, and probably bawling so hard that I'll have to stop singing. I wonder if, by that time, I'll be anyone's reason to cry. Will some underclassman hug me goodbye and think "Man, I'm really going to miss her", or will I be one of the people who will be easily forgotten? Have I impacted anyone but myself during my time in high school?
Next year, I'm going to be a senior. I'm going to be surrounded by people that I care nothing for and motivation is going to be even more challenging to maintain. I'm going to be doing a lot of lasts. I don't know how I feel about this.
Anyway.
After about four cigarettes on a long drive around some back roads and a good sob all on my lonesome, I came home to see the most recent post by Lizzi on her blog. She got into an awesome college and was totally stoked to go, but money got in the way. Now, she is rearranging her life in order to ensure that her future does not completely disintegrate. Honey, you are courageous. I mean, damn. It really got me thinking about the future and about what I would do if faced with the same situation.
If by some miracle I managed to get into Harvard, and then couldn't pay, what would I do? Could I let my dreams get deferred so quickly? I think if I had my dreams held within reach, then dashed before my eyes, I'd completely shut down. I don't think I'm as determined to get an education. I'd probably turn into one of those drifters and I'd develop a brief heroin addiction before going to start my life completely over in a foreign country or something. At 18. By myself. Because I know I wouldn't be able to face the feeling of failure that would come from sticking at home along with the feelings of frustration and sadness at having my opportunities taken away.
The mere thought of even not getting into Harvard freaks me out. I have a few backups in mind, but my heart would truly break if I had to go to college anywhere but Boston. Even more terrifying is the thought that soon, I'm going to be completely independent. I refuse to rely upon my absentee parents for money and I want the freedom, but I don't know if I can handle the responsibility.
Mistakes will be greater and harder to fix, money will be harder to come by, and my life is going to compeltely restructure itself whether I like it or not.
I'm thundering towards adulthood, and I don't know if I'm ready for it yet.
Julia
Glergh
I was terrified to take the AP Language and Composition test, because it was my first AP test since I missed the European History one, but after taking it, I am no longer scared of AP testing. Although, I don't think I'm going to do any AP math classes because I don't know if I could handle a four hour comprehensive math test.
But the Lang test was not nearly as intense as I thought it would be. I was nervous about the timing (1 hour, 55 questions, then 2 hours, 3 full non-shit essays) but I ended up finishing with around 5 minutes to spare in each section.
Ok, you know what, I am too exhausted to be modest about this anymore. I made that test my bitch.
After getting back my ACT scores (I scored way lower than I wanted to, only a 28; not cool. I'm retaking again in August along with the SAT, with the writing sections for both), it felt really good to feel like I actually did well on a standardized test.
Also, I lettered in speech and debate, so that's cool.
I am burnt out on school. I just want to survive the next week and try to keep my GPA from going to shit because I am honestly done with my education right now. I'm going to go hard next year, even thought it's my senior year, but right now, I need some serious non-school time.
Glerghhh.
Julia
But the Lang test was not nearly as intense as I thought it would be. I was nervous about the timing (1 hour, 55 questions, then 2 hours, 3 full non-shit essays) but I ended up finishing with around 5 minutes to spare in each section.
Ok, you know what, I am too exhausted to be modest about this anymore. I made that test my bitch.
After getting back my ACT scores (I scored way lower than I wanted to, only a 28; not cool. I'm retaking again in August along with the SAT, with the writing sections for both), it felt really good to feel like I actually did well on a standardized test.
Also, I lettered in speech and debate, so that's cool.
I am burnt out on school. I just want to survive the next week and try to keep my GPA from going to shit because I am honestly done with my education right now. I'm going to go hard next year, even thought it's my senior year, but right now, I need some serious non-school time.
Glerghhh.
Julia
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Sappy Aha Moment
It was about six in the morning. I had done what I'd been doing every Saturday night and gone to hang out with Technicolor Boy, despite all of our previous weirdness. We had spent the night watching Pixar films, and I had fallen asleep once again to the lull of his heartbeat during the end credits to 'Up'.
But now, it was about six in the morning, and I was in the throws of a rare and vivid nightmare. I woke up with a start and a little cry in the dark. I sat up in bed, trembling from the cold and the fear, head in my hands, breathing quickly, knees pulled up to my chest. I almost never have bad dreams; this one threw me for a loop.
I sat, attempting to orient myself in dull darkness of the morning, trying to slow my pounding heart and rapid breath. Suddenly, I felt a gentle hand on my back. My first thought was "Shit". Not only had I woken him up at about six in the morning, which was rude, but he was seeing me in a completely terrified and vulnerable state.
Technicolor Boy sat up next to me, rubbing my back and stroking my hair. I couldn't seem to stop shaking. Every muscle in my body was tensed with horror and confusion. He wrapped his arms around me and a gently lowered us back down to mattress. I was turned away from him so he couldn't see the fear on my face from the fleeting nightmare that had interrupted my sleep.
He held me close and whispered to me that he wouldn't let anything happen to me and that I was safe with him. As my muscles gradually relaxed, he only held me tighter, planting little kisses on the back of my neck. I exhaled into the darkness in barely audible indignation at being so weak in front of him. He moved his hand to lace his fingers with mine. At that moment, my fear melted away, replaced with a feeling of warm security.
There, in the dark, lying in his arms, completely stripped of my defenses, the beat of his heart pounding lightly in my ears, at about six in the morning, I had one little glimmer of a thought as we began to fall back to sleep.
"I'm yours"
Julia
But now, it was about six in the morning, and I was in the throws of a rare and vivid nightmare. I woke up with a start and a little cry in the dark. I sat up in bed, trembling from the cold and the fear, head in my hands, breathing quickly, knees pulled up to my chest. I almost never have bad dreams; this one threw me for a loop.
I sat, attempting to orient myself in dull darkness of the morning, trying to slow my pounding heart and rapid breath. Suddenly, I felt a gentle hand on my back. My first thought was "Shit". Not only had I woken him up at about six in the morning, which was rude, but he was seeing me in a completely terrified and vulnerable state.
Technicolor Boy sat up next to me, rubbing my back and stroking my hair. I couldn't seem to stop shaking. Every muscle in my body was tensed with horror and confusion. He wrapped his arms around me and a gently lowered us back down to mattress. I was turned away from him so he couldn't see the fear on my face from the fleeting nightmare that had interrupted my sleep.
He held me close and whispered to me that he wouldn't let anything happen to me and that I was safe with him. As my muscles gradually relaxed, he only held me tighter, planting little kisses on the back of my neck. I exhaled into the darkness in barely audible indignation at being so weak in front of him. He moved his hand to lace his fingers with mine. At that moment, my fear melted away, replaced with a feeling of warm security.
There, in the dark, lying in his arms, completely stripped of my defenses, the beat of his heart pounding lightly in my ears, at about six in the morning, I had one little glimmer of a thought as we began to fall back to sleep.
"I'm yours"
Julia
Friday, May 11, 2012
Vicodin Does Nothing For The Heart
Today has been a day of mixed signals and unexpected reactions.
Also, I seem to have forgotten to tell you all, but I've been ridiculously sick all week and have been home in bed doped up painkillers and antibiotics. I had to miss the AP European History test today and I'll have to take it on the final test day. That is how sick I am.
Anyway. I talked to Technicolor Boy this morning and received a rather unexpected amount of rudeness and resentment from him. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I guess I can't always have my cake and eat it too when it comes to forgiveness. I feel horrible about the situation with him, but I'm realizing that if he can't find it in his heart to forgive my stupidity and lapse of judgement, then he may not be worth my trouble at all.I don't want to give up, so I'm just going to let him figure out how he really feels about me and we'll go from there.
The most odd conversation that I had today was with Fsb. He sent me a slew of worried texts after a mutual friend informed him that I am sick. I was a bit taken aback with his sudden concern. I don't know if it was genuine or not, but he seemed to care. I don't know if he wants something from me or if this is his weird, socially-awkward way of trying to be a good friend.
All I know is that Vicodin is a glorious invention, despite making my tummy feel funny. (I tried crushing some up and snorting it so that I wouldn't have to swallow it; terrible idea! Stuff burns like a bitch! And I won't even get into the ironic symbolism of my taking lines of Vicodin off of a college prep packet...) I have never had Vicodin before, and I'm finding the effects quite nice. I don't think I'll turn into Greg House, though, this stuff isn't that great.
The problem with pain pills is that they reduce my functionality and are doing jack shit for this whole heartbreak thing.
On the bright side, I've got a whole season of Dexter to watch and an unholy amount of ramen to eat. Hopefully, things'll brighten up from here.
Julia
Also, I seem to have forgotten to tell you all, but I've been ridiculously sick all week and have been home in bed doped up painkillers and antibiotics. I had to miss the AP European History test today and I'll have to take it on the final test day. That is how sick I am.
Anyway. I talked to Technicolor Boy this morning and received a rather unexpected amount of rudeness and resentment from him. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I guess I can't always have my cake and eat it too when it comes to forgiveness. I feel horrible about the situation with him, but I'm realizing that if he can't find it in his heart to forgive my stupidity and lapse of judgement, then he may not be worth my trouble at all.I don't want to give up, so I'm just going to let him figure out how he really feels about me and we'll go from there.
The most odd conversation that I had today was with Fsb. He sent me a slew of worried texts after a mutual friend informed him that I am sick. I was a bit taken aback with his sudden concern. I don't know if it was genuine or not, but he seemed to care. I don't know if he wants something from me or if this is his weird, socially-awkward way of trying to be a good friend.
All I know is that Vicodin is a glorious invention, despite making my tummy feel funny. (I tried crushing some up and snorting it so that I wouldn't have to swallow it; terrible idea! Stuff burns like a bitch! And I won't even get into the ironic symbolism of my taking lines of Vicodin off of a college prep packet...) I have never had Vicodin before, and I'm finding the effects quite nice. I don't think I'll turn into Greg House, though, this stuff isn't that great.
The problem with pain pills is that they reduce my functionality and are doing jack shit for this whole heartbreak thing.
On the bright side, I've got a whole season of Dexter to watch and an unholy amount of ramen to eat. Hopefully, things'll brighten up from here.
Julia
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
I didn't run, I pushed.
My instincts got the best of me for a second, and now he might be gone for good. I hope he can forgive my stupidity and selfishness, because I realized that he is all I want. I didn't see it before.
I guess when you get treated wrong for so long, it's hard to understand what it's like to be treated right.
Of course I would realize all of this now that the damage is done. I just want him.
I only want him.
My instincts got the best of me for a second, and now he might be gone for good. I hope he can forgive my stupidity and selfishness, because I realized that he is all I want. I didn't see it before.
I guess when you get treated wrong for so long, it's hard to understand what it's like to be treated right.
Of course I would realize all of this now that the damage is done. I just want him.
I only want him.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Little Kiss Territory
I've just gotten back home and before I move on to being productive with my life, I'd like to ask you few and foreign followers for a bit of advice. I am very much in need of an outside opinion or three. Also, this post is going to contain a lot of lists. I feel like all of my posts contain lists... I'm a very list-y person.
Anyway.
First, I give you an explanation of my current predicament, but please note that all developments are recent, so I may be psyching myself out with this extensive over analyzation, but whatever.
SO.
Over the past few weeks, every Saturday night, after whatever other adventures have ensued, I always end the evening at the house of Technicolor Boy (he has his own place, score!) and things always follow this general outline:
-watch anime/Disney/superhero movies
-talk about our lives
-the entire ball game, so to speak
-fall asleep listening to the sound of his heartbeat and steady breathing
-wake up to his cat pawing my nose
-watch more movies and joke around until I remember that I have to return to the realm of productivity
Except, this time, it was different. In the morning, we went and got coffee and then saw The Avengers, which was absolutely fantastic, by the way. (Side note--I spent the entirety of the movie fangirling like no one's business, mostly over Tom Hiddleston, but that's not important)
This expansion of our activities has raised the concerns that I had been quietly contemplating to the surface of my mind's pool of thought. Now, it must be stated for the record that Technicolor Boy is financially secure, independent, adorable, and makes me very happy to be around. But, these are the concerns:
-He tells me I'm pretty even when my hair is a curly mess and my make up has all rubbed off from being asleep. What kind of boy does that?! This is madness.
-I feel a closeness to him that I have not felt for anyone since Wsb. I don't even know what to do with that one.
-He took me to see a movie. That, to most of the world, qualifies as a date.
-We have now entered what I think of as "Little Kiss Territory", which is the point where a boy and girl have moved past the initial overt-sexual-tension phase and have entered the more-subdued-intimate phase, which can be characterized by the transition from only having lengthy, passionate, lust-driven kisses to now be exchanging brief little kisses here and there like it's commonplace. I do not like "Little Kiss Territory" and it is making me terribly uncomfortable to be smack-dab in the middle of it.
This is the point where my natural inclination is to run like Hell. I dread the bringing up of that innocuous little r-word. Seriously. My track record is not a shining list of successful relationships. The mere thought of having a relationship with this guy is twisting my insides into a confused knot.
Holy Rocket Jesus, please send me guidance!
Few and foreign followers, please advise: Am I cutting myself off from happiness by wanting to flee, or is it for the better?
How do I approach this?
Julia
Anyway.
First, I give you an explanation of my current predicament, but please note that all developments are recent, so I may be psyching myself out with this extensive over analyzation, but whatever.
SO.
Over the past few weeks, every Saturday night, after whatever other adventures have ensued, I always end the evening at the house of Technicolor Boy (he has his own place, score!) and things always follow this general outline:
-watch anime/Disney/superhero movies
-talk about our lives
-the entire ball game, so to speak
-fall asleep listening to the sound of his heartbeat and steady breathing
-wake up to his cat pawing my nose
-watch more movies and joke around until I remember that I have to return to the realm of productivity
Except, this time, it was different. In the morning, we went and got coffee and then saw The Avengers, which was absolutely fantastic, by the way. (Side note--I spent the entirety of the movie fangirling like no one's business, mostly over Tom Hiddleston, but that's not important)
This expansion of our activities has raised the concerns that I had been quietly contemplating to the surface of my mind's pool of thought. Now, it must be stated for the record that Technicolor Boy is financially secure, independent, adorable, and makes me very happy to be around. But, these are the concerns:
-He tells me I'm pretty even when my hair is a curly mess and my make up has all rubbed off from being asleep. What kind of boy does that?! This is madness.
-I feel a closeness to him that I have not felt for anyone since Wsb. I don't even know what to do with that one.
-He took me to see a movie. That, to most of the world, qualifies as a date.
-We have now entered what I think of as "Little Kiss Territory", which is the point where a boy and girl have moved past the initial overt-sexual-tension phase and have entered the more-subdued-intimate phase, which can be characterized by the transition from only having lengthy, passionate, lust-driven kisses to now be exchanging brief little kisses here and there like it's commonplace. I do not like "Little Kiss Territory" and it is making me terribly uncomfortable to be smack-dab in the middle of it.
This is the point where my natural inclination is to run like Hell. I dread the bringing up of that innocuous little r-word. Seriously. My track record is not a shining list of successful relationships. The mere thought of having a relationship with this guy is twisting my insides into a confused knot.
Holy Rocket Jesus, please send me guidance!
Few and foreign followers, please advise: Am I cutting myself off from happiness by wanting to flee, or is it for the better?
How do I approach this?
Julia
Saturday, May 5, 2012
The RomCom Dilemma
First thing's first: my birthday was fab. Lionboy made me cupcakes, my GHS coordinator baked me a cake, and my father brought home an elaborately iced red velvet cake (to make up for the whole forgetting/abandoning, didn't quite cut it, but it was a nice gesture). I went to a show in Denver and life was swell.
Now, moving forward to the main content of this post:
I have been up all night watching random shit on Netflix. I started with a racy drama about a call girl trying to make it in New York called "The Girlfriend Experience", which was quite bland and nowhere near as riveting or sexy as the little pop-up description box had led me to believe. Then, I started this flick called XX/XY which was just weird and reminded me too much of my own life and not in a good way. I had to shut it off, it was that bad. (When it comes to movies, even shittastic ones, I am not a quitter, so my stopping a film half-way through is a big indicator of cinematic shit levels)
Finally, I decided to watch "No Strings Attached" with Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman, because even in shitty roles, Natalie Portman is a babe. (Side note--"No Strings Attached" was actually much better than I thought it would be. It was pretty standard and the plot was typical, but not disgustingly so. Plus, Natalie Portman)
Now, as a movie connoisseur (you don't understand; I love movies), I appreciate all genres and eras of cinema and I strive to watch each new film with an open mind. The only genre of movie that ever gives me trouble are romantic comedies, particularly ones from this millenium. Though endearing and generally witty, I have issues with the whole genre and I am always hesitant to watch any newly released titles.
I blame this upon a little thing that I like to call the RomCom Dilemma. I don't know how universal the dilemma is, but it's generally applicable to my life. So here's the thing: Romantic comedies always remind me far too much of my own life, but then they end weirdly and abruptly. This sudden deviation from reality at the end of every romantic movie is always predictably placed and unrealistically written. To shorten, watching a romcom is like watching my past relationships, but with different endings.
This creates for me a dilemma: do I watch the film, knowing that it will leave my reminiscent and inevitably frustrated, or do I avoid the film, thereby avoiding any parallels that I may draw between the main character and myself, leaving myself to wonder about all other aspects of the film?
To be frank, I am sick of seeing my love life played out with different endings, however, in some cases, the rest of the movie makes up for it. Still, the choice is always ominous.
Heh.
#firstworldproblems
Julia
Now, moving forward to the main content of this post:
I have been up all night watching random shit on Netflix. I started with a racy drama about a call girl trying to make it in New York called "The Girlfriend Experience", which was quite bland and nowhere near as riveting or sexy as the little pop-up description box had led me to believe. Then, I started this flick called XX/XY which was just weird and reminded me too much of my own life and not in a good way. I had to shut it off, it was that bad. (When it comes to movies, even shittastic ones, I am not a quitter, so my stopping a film half-way through is a big indicator of cinematic shit levels)
Finally, I decided to watch "No Strings Attached" with Ashton Kutcher and Natalie Portman, because even in shitty roles, Natalie Portman is a babe. (Side note--"No Strings Attached" was actually much better than I thought it would be. It was pretty standard and the plot was typical, but not disgustingly so. Plus, Natalie Portman)
Now, as a movie connoisseur (you don't understand; I love movies), I appreciate all genres and eras of cinema and I strive to watch each new film with an open mind. The only genre of movie that ever gives me trouble are romantic comedies, particularly ones from this millenium. Though endearing and generally witty, I have issues with the whole genre and I am always hesitant to watch any newly released titles.
I blame this upon a little thing that I like to call the RomCom Dilemma. I don't know how universal the dilemma is, but it's generally applicable to my life. So here's the thing: Romantic comedies always remind me far too much of my own life, but then they end weirdly and abruptly. This sudden deviation from reality at the end of every romantic movie is always predictably placed and unrealistically written. To shorten, watching a romcom is like watching my past relationships, but with different endings.
This creates for me a dilemma: do I watch the film, knowing that it will leave my reminiscent and inevitably frustrated, or do I avoid the film, thereby avoiding any parallels that I may draw between the main character and myself, leaving myself to wonder about all other aspects of the film?
To be frank, I am sick of seeing my love life played out with different endings, however, in some cases, the rest of the movie makes up for it. Still, the choice is always ominous.
Heh.
#firstworldproblems
Julia
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Not The Family Type
I am not a family person. I don't want children. I have not been to a Thanksgiving at my own house for years. I don't want a family, ever, not even my own.
When you grow up poor and with absent parents who, when they are around, focus only on your younger sibling because she has always had the more severe medical problems, 'family' is not really a happy word for you. 'Family' means attention I will never get, double standards, and a source for money. My parents are not abusive, nor neglectful, but they are so oblivious and absent that it's really know surprise that I am such a delinquent.
This sounds fueled by resentment, and believe me, it is, but I am not exaggerating in the least.
I am a fantastic student and am a very driven, independent person because my parents never gave two shits so I was left to fend for myself from a very young age. My younger sister is past the age of being adorable and is now just a drain on my parents' money and energy, unlike myself, who has spent so many years trying to impress them that I have racked up quite a list of accomplishments. She becomes more and more self-centered and socially-retarded by the day, while I am creating a future for myself.
But do they see my effort? Do they come to any of my awards ceremonies, activities, or performances? Hell no. Especially should one of those (God forfuckingbid) be happening at the same time as something involving my little sister. I mean, they came to Les Mis, but I think that was only because my sister was in it as well.
At this point, I have started to isolate myself because it is just simpler. I can live my life and do my own thing and as long as I remain unarrested/impregnated/killed, my parents see no reason to ever pay attention to my life. The only time I ever talk to my parents is about scheduling or gas money. I mean, I pay for 90% of my own stuff anyway (including summer camps and cell phone bills) now that I can drive, I see no reason to be at home. Ever.
The only reason at all that I have not moved out yet is because I am not 18, and therefore cannot sign a lease on an apartment. When that day comes, you can bet your sweet ass that I will be out of my parents' hair for good, and hopefully as geographically far away as possible. When I can, I am leaving without a note nor any contact information. I doubt my parents will even notice.
Like I give a fuck anymore.
Seriously, my family could die in a car crash tomorrow and I wouldn't shed a single tear.
I grew up without close family ties. The whole family dinner thing is a really foreign idea to me; sitting down to eat, like, at the dining table with the other people who live in my house legitimately makes me uncomfortable. I don't talk to my parents about my problems, nor do I care to help my little sister with her's. I guess it's sad, but family just isn't that important to me. I couldn't care less that my parents brought me into this world, because their efforts effectively stopped there.
Sigh.
I suppose this explosion of resentful feelings was brought on by the fact that my parents forgot my birthday (which is in two days) and got angry when I requested cake. They will be spending that night with my sister at a conference for her school.
I cannot wait until college.
Julia
When you grow up poor and with absent parents who, when they are around, focus only on your younger sibling because she has always had the more severe medical problems, 'family' is not really a happy word for you. 'Family' means attention I will never get, double standards, and a source for money. My parents are not abusive, nor neglectful, but they are so oblivious and absent that it's really know surprise that I am such a delinquent.
This sounds fueled by resentment, and believe me, it is, but I am not exaggerating in the least.
I am a fantastic student and am a very driven, independent person because my parents never gave two shits so I was left to fend for myself from a very young age. My younger sister is past the age of being adorable and is now just a drain on my parents' money and energy, unlike myself, who has spent so many years trying to impress them that I have racked up quite a list of accomplishments. She becomes more and more self-centered and socially-retarded by the day, while I am creating a future for myself.
But do they see my effort? Do they come to any of my awards ceremonies, activities, or performances? Hell no. Especially should one of those (God forfuckingbid) be happening at the same time as something involving my little sister. I mean, they came to Les Mis, but I think that was only because my sister was in it as well.
At this point, I have started to isolate myself because it is just simpler. I can live my life and do my own thing and as long as I remain unarrested/impregnated/killed, my parents see no reason to ever pay attention to my life. The only time I ever talk to my parents is about scheduling or gas money. I mean, I pay for 90% of my own stuff anyway (including summer camps and cell phone bills) now that I can drive, I see no reason to be at home. Ever.
The only reason at all that I have not moved out yet is because I am not 18, and therefore cannot sign a lease on an apartment. When that day comes, you can bet your sweet ass that I will be out of my parents' hair for good, and hopefully as geographically far away as possible. When I can, I am leaving without a note nor any contact information. I doubt my parents will even notice.
Like I give a fuck anymore.
Seriously, my family could die in a car crash tomorrow and I wouldn't shed a single tear.
I grew up without close family ties. The whole family dinner thing is a really foreign idea to me; sitting down to eat, like, at the dining table with the other people who live in my house legitimately makes me uncomfortable. I don't talk to my parents about my problems, nor do I care to help my little sister with her's. I guess it's sad, but family just isn't that important to me. I couldn't care less that my parents brought me into this world, because their efforts effectively stopped there.
Sigh.
I suppose this explosion of resentful feelings was brought on by the fact that my parents forgot my birthday (which is in two days) and got angry when I requested cake. They will be spending that night with my sister at a conference for her school.
I cannot wait until college.
Julia
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